Regency Pleasures. Louise Allen

sensed that there was more to his admission, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

      “Are you disappointed that we’re not related?” he asked.

      She would have been more disappointed if they had been. She wasn’t sure why, because she had no romantic interest in him. If anything, she should despise him because of his loyalty to Prince Henry, the man who had destroyed her real family. “Why should I care either way?” she asked carefully.

      A shadow darkened Josquin’s handsome features. “When we met, I sensed a connection between us.”

      She wasn’t about to admit that she had felt it, too. “You’ve just said we’re not related by blood.”

      “There are other kinds of connection between a man and a woman.”

      She threaded her fingers through the bars of Christophe’s crib as an anchor. “I’m not looking for a connection, as you put it. I want to take my child and go home.”

      “You would deny your son his birthright because yours was denied to you?”

      “I’m not doing any such thing.” At least she hoped that wasn’t her motivation. She made a sweeping gesture around the lavishly furnished suite. “None of this has anything to do with us. I’m half-American, remember? If what you tell me is true, Christophe has less Carramer blood in his veins than I do.”

      “Are you running away from his heritage, or from me?”

      The prince’s question stopped her in her tracks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      His dark gaze caught and held her. “Don’t you? You deny feeling any connection between us, but it is there. I think you’re afraid if you acknowledge it, you’ll lose your head the way your mother did.”

      Sarah could hardly breathe for the emotions swirling through her. “It didn’t work out all that well for her.”

      His hand came up and touched the side of her face. “Then consider this your chance to rewrite history.”

      She had to fight to resist the urge to turn her face into his hand. “You’re assuming I want to.”

      “Oh, you want to.”

      How did he know, when she could barely explain her feelings to herself? Was such arrogant assurance a part of his royal heritage? If so, why didn’t she feel as sure of herself? “Are you sure I’m a real princess?” she asked.

      He looked mystified. “I guarantee it.”

      “Then let me issue my first decree. Take your royal hand off me now.”